


Crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man

by sarahcakes613



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Bartender Sonny Carisi, Flirting, M/M, Model Rafael Barba, Pick-Up Lines, Pre-Slash, brief sleazeball pick-up artist, cocktails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27441163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/pseuds/sarahcakes613
Summary: Sonny prides himself on always knowing the right drink for his patrons. One man throws him off his game.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 64
Collections: Barisi Professions Bingo





	Crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man

**Author's Note:**

> Stephanie asked for bartender Sonny and I went through a few ideas before coalescing into this.
> 
> Possible TW / CW for attempted drugging. See end notes for details.

To be a good bartender, you have to know how to mix any drink a patron asks for. To be a _great_ bartender, you have to be able to look at them and know exactly what they want before they think to order it.

Sonny is a _great_ bartender.

Which is why he’s so surprised when the man he’d pegged for a Negroni – something about the darkness in his eyes and the twist of his smile says licorice root – shakes his head and asks for a light beer.

He pops the top off a Corona and slides it across the bar. The man takes a swig and makes a face, but seems resigned to his choice.

As he works, Sonny catches himself watching the man. He’s seated alone and not looking at his phone or watch, so he’s likely not waiting for anyone. He’s handsome, in a hawkish broody sort of way that hits all of Sonny’s buttons, and there’s something familiar about him that Sonny can’t pinpoint.

Then again, it’s New York. Everybody could be somebody, and it’s possible Sonny’s seen this guy reading the weather on the evening news, or in the ensemble of one of the musicals Gina constantly drags him to, but it’s also possible he’s just a face Sonny sees on the subway every day.

He isn’t the only person interested tonight, as evidenced by another man who is attempting to chat up Mr. Light Beer.

“Hey, didn’t I see you on the cover of L’Uomo?”

Sonny rolls his eyes internally at the obvious line, but is surprised when he hears the response.

“Oh, probably.”

Maybe that’s where Sonny’s seen him, then, peering out at him from the cover of magazines at the bodega where he buys his morning coffee.

“I knew it! And you did that spread for GQ last month, the one on pattern mixing.”

Mr. Light Beer turns to fully consider the man in front of him, and then turns back to face the bar, dismissing him. “Yes, I remember.”

The man doesn’t seem to realize he’s been dismissed. He leans against the bar, no doubt attempting to look casually cool, but falling short.

“I’m Jasper,” he says, holding his hand out. Mr. LB flicks his eyes down to the hand and then back up.

“Good for you,” he says.

Jasper laughs, and it sounds exactly like one of the sleazy cartoons Sonny used to watch in high school.

“Okay, I see how it is,” he says, “you like to play a little hard to get. A gorgeous thing like you is worth a little chasing.”

This time Sonny’s eye roll is not internal, but he pastes a smile on his face as Jasper moves down the bar to him.

“Good evening, my good man!” Jasper’s tone is supercilious. “I’ll have an Old Fashioned, and another beer for my friend.”

Sonny’s got Jasper pegged as the kind of guy who never outgrew his college Sex on the Beach days, but he’s also dressed in a suit with narrow lapels and a skinny tie that screams “I binged Mad Men and now I think I’m Don Draper”, so the Old Fashioned makes sense.

He looks over to the other man, who tilts his beer and drains it. He is clean-shaven, but as his throat works, Sonny notices a small patch of stubble under his jaw. As he finishes the drink, he catches Sonny’s eye and waggles his empty bottle. Sonny tilts his head, silently asking if he’ll accept the refresher from Jasper. He pauses, but shrugs and nods.

As Sonny mixes the cocktail, Jasper leans in closely to partake in the time-old tradition of confiding in one’s barkeep.

“D’you know who that is?” he asks. Sonny shakes his head.

“That’s Rafael Barba, they say he’s Thom Browne’s muse. He’s been in every major fashion magazine and Tim Gunn called him singlehandedly responsible for making the pocket square stylish again.”

Sonny hums benignly, although it is interesting information. Barba’s dressed in a clearly bespoke blue suit and his tie and shirt are opposing patterns in lilac, which would overpower most men but it’s a look that works for him. He’s a man who wears clothing, he doesn’t let the clothing wear him.

“He doesn’t know it yet,” Jasper winks at Sonny, “but he’s coming home with me tonight. Bet I can find out what’s hidden under all that paisley, hey?”

“That’ll be $14.50,” Sonny says in his bright customer service voice, not deigning to engage in Jasper’s speculation.

He ostentatiously sets a twenty down on the bar. “Keep the change,” he says with another wink as he picks up his cocktail and Rafael’s second beer.

It happens so quickly Sonny almost misses it, but as his eyes lower to pick up the bill, he sees something drop from Jasper’s hand into the open bottle of beer.

The liquid foams ever so slightly more than it should and Sonny’s hand shoots out to wrap around Jasper’s wrist.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Jasper's eyes widen in mock surprise.

“I saw you palming something into the beer.” Sonny keeps his voice low, not wanting to draw undue attention.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jasper insists, his grin slipping slightly.

Sonny keeps the hand on his wrist and brings his other to take the beer back to his side of the bar. “My mistake, then. It must have been a fly. I’ll just pour this out and deliver a fresh one directly to Mr. Barba.”

Jasper narrows his eyes and lets go of both drinks, shoving them towards Sonny roughly, snatching his money back off the bar. “Cockblocker,” he accuses in a hiss.

He stomps away from the bar and Sonny gestures to Nick, his coworker who is working the door tonight. It’s a subtle twist of his hand that he knows Nick will interpret accurately, and Nick stands as Jasper stalks towards the exit.

Nick’s phone comes up. “Smile, asshole.” Nick says with a grin. “Now get lost, you’re banned.”

Jasper sneers at him and attempts to slam the door as he leaves. Instead, the heavy bar door creaks to a slow close.

The trash taken out, Sonny considers the man still seated at the bar, now without a drink.

“You really don’t like light beer,” he observes. Rafael gives him a wry smile.

“Not even a little,” he admits.

“Let me make you something that suits you more?”

He gives Sonny an appraising look. “Do I get to choose, or are you going to surprise me?”

Sonny shrugs. “I’m pretty good at pinpointing people’s drinks on sight. You sure you don’t want that Negroni?”

Rafael shakes his head. “Not a fan of gin.”

Sonny considers him. “You like sweet stuff? Fruit?”

Rafael shrugs one shoulder elegantly. “Sweet is okay, but I prefer tart.”

Sonny looks at the wall of bottles and snaps his fingers. “Alright, something tart coming up.”

He shakes a combination of alcohols and citrus juices. As he’s measuring, Rafael watches him.

“That guy tried to pull something, didn’t he?” He asks casually, drawing shapes in the condensation on the bar.

“Yeah,” Sonny admits, shooting Rafael a sharp look.

Rafael looks up at him. “Well, thank you.”

Sonny shrugs uncomfortably. It’s not the first time he’s had to intervene with a sleazy patron, and it never feels good. He’d much rather people like that just didn’t exist, or at least didn’t come into his bar.

He shakes the drink vigorously and pours it into a glass, then pushes a slice of lemon and a maraschino cherry onto a bright green swizzle stick for garnish and presents it to Rafael with a flourish.

“Cherry Sour, for the man who prefers tart to sweet.”

Rafael smiles and lifts the swizzle stick to his mouth. He closes his lips around the cherry and slowly pulls the stick back, dragging the cherry off the stick with a sensual pop.

Sonny watches with his own mouth slightly open and Rafael smirks at him as he takes a sip of his cocktail. He tilts his head thoughtfully, but Sonny can already tell this isn’t his drink.

“It’s not bad,” Rafael insists as Sonny plucks the glass away.

“No, but it’s not your drink. Everyone has a drink, and I’ve never guessed one wrong, much less twice.”

Sonny drums his fingers on the bar. Rafael likes things with a bit of a bite, but not bitter. He’s got a classic style, but with a modern twist to it that showcases a willingness to try new things and not accept reprobation for it. His casual disregard for the man who had been trying to chat him up tells of an inner confidence, a man who doesn’t rely on others to know he is desirable.

Classic, twist, innovative, complex flavours. He knows he’s on the right track with the whisky, the smoky curl of Rafael’s voice fits the smoky peat of the liquor. There’s something missing though, a hint of spice. As he thinks, his eyes drift around the room and drop onto a family in the back.

Father, daughter, and grandfather, all gathered around the single pool table. The daughter is young, barely a tween, but because they operate a small kitchen, she is legally permitted entry. She’s drinking a ginger ale, and Sonny almost wants to facepalm because of course.

He fishes a ginger beer – not a soda, there’s nothing light and bubbly about Rafael – out of the fridge and pours it into a glass of whisky, then drops in some chilled soapstone rocks.

“This is it,” he says confidently, and Rafael arches an eyebrow as he picks up the glass.

He takes a sip, Sonny waiting with near bated breath, and then his lips lift into a slow sure smile.

“This is perfect,” he says simply.

Sonny grins and lets out an exhalation of relief. “Third time’s the charm,” he jokes.

Rafael tilts his glass, the double golden brown liquids shimmering. “Does it have a name?”

“It’s a variation on an Irish Mule,” Sonny says. “I left out the lime juice and mint, so it’s just ginger and whisky. Ginger Whisky, kinda sounds like a femme fatale in an old James Bond movie.”

“You could name it for yourself,” Rafael says. “I would do it, but I don’t know your name.”

“Sonny,” he says, wiping condensation off his hand before holding it out over the bar.

Rafael grips it in a firm shake. “Sonny. What about a Sunshine Mule?”

“Sunshine?”

“Mhm,” Rafael takes another sip and holds it up in a salute. “Because you’ve been the one bright light in an otherwise very dim evening.”

Sonny blushes, and Rafael smirks. “Look at that, you even glow like the sun.”

“Aw, shaddup.” Sonny swats him with a bar towel, but can’t hide the sunset pink tint of his giddy feeling at being flirted with by such an attractive man.

Rafael finishes his drink and pulls out his wallet. “What’s my damage?”

Sonny waves him off. “Nothing tonight, it’s on the house.”

Rafael sets a ten-dollar bill on the bar. “Just the tip, then.”

Sonny’s hand freezes in the air above the cash and Rafael’s lips quirk as they both catch the innuendo simultaneously.

“That’s definitely my cue to stop drinking and go home,” Rafael jokes. He pats his pockets, looking for his phone, and pulls it out. “Oh hell,” he says, “my phone’s dead. Can I borrow yours to text a cab?”

Sonny hands his phone over without thinking, and Rafael taps at it for a minute, then sets it down on the bar.

“Thanks,” he says, “I’d better go wait out front. I’ll see you around, Sonny.”

“Bye,” Sonny says faintly. As he watches Rafael leave, he regrets not asking for the man’s number, but he hadn’t wanted to seem opportunistic after that sleazeball had struck out.

When he picks up his phone, he laughs. In the minute he’d had it in his hands, it seems that Rafael had downloaded a photo of himself to Sonny’s phone and set it as his new background image. It looks like a professional shot, something from a fashion spread on autumn outerwear. He’s standing at an angle, long navy coat pushed back by a hand in his pocket. The female model next to him is smiling widely, but his smile is smaller, more of a sly smirk than a full-on grin.

His previous background picture had been a candid of his niece holding her baby cousin, but he decides not to change it back. He taps the button at the bottom of his phone to see what other apps Rafael might have opened and alongside his photo gallery and his messages, he sees his contacts list is open.

He goes to the list and scrolls until he sees a new entry and he smiles to himself. He hasn’t put it under R for Rafael, but G for Ginger.

He doesn’t see any outgoing texts other than the one to the cab company, which means Rafael has left the next move entirely up to him. Sonny knows he isn’t imagining it, there had been clear flirtation and interest there, but he also doesn’t want to appear too eager.

Though, if he’d been telling the truth about his phone being dead, he won’t see any message Sonny sends right away anyhow.

It’s a moot thought, as Sonny’s phone vibrates in his hand with an incoming text. Rafael has apparently decided not to leave things up to him after all.

_I left the bar twenty minutes ago and you haven’t sent me a text yet. I’m not a patient man._

**so much for dead phone, huh? how did you get my number, I didn’t see an outgoing message.**

_I have an excellent memory for numbers._

Sonny smirks, noticing Rafael has not commented on the mysteriously now-charged phone. He looks at the bright plastic Coors clock on the wall. It’s just half-past ten, and his shift is nearly over.

**well then here’s another number for you to remember, 11.**

_And what is 11, or do I have to guess?_

**it’s when my shift ends.**

There’s no response for a few minutes, just long enough for Sonny to worry that he’s moved too quickly, but then another message pops up. It’s an address in Chelsea, not all that far from Sonny’s own apartment in Greenwich. A second message follows less than a minute later.

_Remember what I said, sunshine. I’m not a patient man._

He spends the next half-hour talking himself in and out of going to Rafael’s and by the time he is shrugging on his leather jacket at the end of his shift, he still hasn’t made up his mind.

He waves a goodbye to Nick and pulls his phone out as he leaves the bar. There’s one unread message from Rafael that was sent at exactly eleven. It’s a photo message, and he opens it after surreptitiously looking around to make sure he is alone. Just in case.

And it’s a good thing he checked, because when he opens the photo he nearly chokes on his breath and feels his jeans grow snugger.

The photo begins at Rafael’s shirtless stomach, bronzed skin and a dusting of dark brown hair across his belly, and continues down to a thick bulge framed by an open fly and Rafael’s hand, manicured nails and prominent veins.

His mind is made up in that moment, the decision he thinks he always knew he was going to make.

**I’m on my way.**

**Author's Note:**

> TW / CW for attempted drugging details:
> 
> After Sonny passes the drinks to Jasper, he catches Jasper dropping something into Rafael's beer. It is never explicitly stated, but characters infer he was intending to drug Rafael. He doesn't succeed and is booted from the narrative.


End file.
